


Ashes to Ashes

by metonomia



Series: Susan Through History [2]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-10
Updated: 2010-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:47:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metonomia/pseuds/metonomia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Golden Age.  Queen Susan mourns her brother-husband Peter, as inspired by the life (death) of Artemisia II of Caria.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ashes to Ashes

The ritual is well-established now, a year and a half since Peter's death.

Susan does not have the strength to rise from her bed anymore, so Lucy comes in every night, lighting the room's single lamp before turning to greet her sister. This is the only time of day she ever sees Susan, and the softness of the candlelight does nothing to soothe the harsh lines of the queen's gaunt face. A flush of color rises in her cheeks as she struggles to sit up, sickly red against her sallow skin. Her hair lies limp, framing her face in extra shadows. Her wedding dress, donned again for the period of mourning, has not been removed or cleaned since the funeral, and it slips off of Susan's bony shoulder, exposing ghostly flesh that seems more suited to death than life.

Lucy hurries over to the bed and winds an arm about the pining queen's shoulders, shoving pillows into place to support Susan's head where her neck cannot.

"Let me bring you something to eat," Lucy urges, blinking back helpless tears.

"I'm not hungry," Susan whispers hoarsely. "Just the wine, please."

Swiping at her face, Lucy walks to the altar in the center of the room and picks up the silver jug and pours the dark wine into her sister's cup. Next, the golden urn, her fingers tripping across the molded scenes of the High King's life – here, the conquest; here; the coronation, Peter as gold as Aslan; here, the wedding, the little figures of Susan and Peter twinkling in the dim light – and she lifts the lid, a cold metallic sound echoing through the room. One spoonful, just as Susan has taken for so many months now, the gray nothing-ness dissolving easily into the wine.

She carries it to her sister, and Susan reaches out for the cup too eagerly, all her waning energy given over to this dark devotion. She gulps the contents down greedily, tears glistening against her ashen face.

"Thank you, Lucy," she says when she is finished, slumping back down into her bed. "And Peter thanks you too."

Lucy bows her head in mute acknowledgement and turns to leave, but Susan's weak voice calls her back.

"I think I will join Peter in Aslan's country very soon, my sister. When I am gone, who will remember him as I do?"

"We do not all have your devotion, Susan, but Edmund and I and all of Narnia grieve with you. We honor Peter by living," Lucy says gently. "He would not want you to let yourself die."

"I love him best," Susan hisses fiercely, if weakly. "I want you to promise me that you will finish the monument. He must be remembered even when I am gone."

"It will be done, sister – I promise. There will be nothing like it in Narnia now or ever."

"Good." Susan smiles, a tired and little-used expression, and manages to wave a hand in dismissal.

"I shall see you tomorrow night, Lucy." Lucy turns and leaves, shutting the door silently on the lifeless room.

Susan licks a few last drops of ash and wine from her lips and closes her eyes.


End file.
